Before the Wind
by Errant Kitten
Summary: Not given to prequels in general, the Kitten still wonders, What happened to the characters BEFORE that first day when Scarlett sat on the porch in 1861 with the Tarleton twins? Were her parents, and old friends really such two-dimensional creatures? Did Rhett Butler know Ellen O'Hara before Scarlett? Or look me youngster has probably updated "Naruto" for your pleasure.
1. Chapter 1

SAVANNAH, GEORGIA 1844

The two young men staggered along Bay Street on a November midnight. "That…you see that? Butler, that where my relatives fought in the Siege of Savannah, back in glorious '79" The speaker laughed, gesturing sloppily at a series of elegant buildings.

His friend a black haired seventeen year old, swigged from a jug and said "But-but you're always telling me that your grandfather was a cowardly Loyalist, and it's hypocrisy that he sent you to West Point, Robie."

"Ah yes, Butler, but when it came to the Brits taking our propitty' greedy Gran'ther joined up with the French and fought 'em back. He will be nearly as angry today when he finds out that I've been expelled from the precious Military Academy."

Young Butler looked somewhat serious as he passed Robie the jug. "Yes, my pater won't be terribly pleased either. I'm not familiar with Savannah, but it comparatively will be a more hospitable town than Charleston, at least in the near future, eh?"

"I know. I should feel badly about all this, but when I remember Lieutenant Colonel Vinson's face when he found the octoroon nigra in his bed—" Robie's reminisce ended in both boys laughing uproariously.

A few minutes later, Robie led Butler to a vine covered trellis on the side of a stately mansion, or so Butler remarked.

"Oh yes," Robie remarked drunkenly. "This house was made of sawn lumber North Carolina in 1791, and the nails were purchased from Cousin Aldous's nailery near Tarboro, North Carolina, and the window glass was brought from near Richmond…this is a hall-parlor—"

"Enough!" Butler held the jug to his lips but straight up in a "Hush" motion. "Do I look like I want an architecture tour? Why are we here, anyway? Is this your home?"

"No, not at all, Butler. This is the home of my darling Ellen. Remember Ellen of the scented letters?" Robie winked, but had to right himself against the "hall-parlor" mansion.

"Good God, man, she's not going to admit us here at this time of night, is she?"

"We have a system." Robie winked, and then made a meowing noise…and then another.

"Stop it, the constabulary will be arriving for us!" Butler put his face in his hands.

But Robie only meowed louder, and then finally a window opened.

"Whut kine noise going on down deah? Dat ain't no cat!" A round black face emerged from the window, looking down into the dusk balefully.

"Mammy! Mammy…it's Phillippe, I've come to visit Ellen!"

"Mist' Fee-leep you 'spose to be at the 'Cademy. West Pernt"

"I have been 'spelled from West Pernt!" Robie called back up, in an imitation of Mammy's Geechee accent that put young Butler in a state of helpless chuckles.

"Mist' Fee-leep, you best go home to Mist' Christophe's house. You keep mee-owing lak dis and I'll turn a bucket of water on yo' haid."

"No you won't Mammy." Phillippe said calmly, although again young Butler looked worried. "Get down here and let us in. I brought you a present, Mammy. Don't you want to see it?"

"Miss Ellen in bed, and if huh momma, Miss Solange was alive—"

"Mammy, I brought you a present! I can just meow all night and give the nice scarf I brought from up North to Gran'ther's housemaid Rielle—"

"Don't you give nothin' to that no-count nigguh! Cleans like a monkey on moonshine! I'll be down in three minutes."

A few minutes later, the boys were ensconced in a small parlor on the second floor, and the door opened, and two young ladies came in, both wrapped in shawls. Mammy, thrilled with a "scarf" that had up until recently been Mr. Butler's bow-tie, was fetching coffee for the assembled.

Rhett was stunned by the beauty of the dark haired girl who met eyes with his friend. Robie, Rhett thought, you're the luckiest man alive!

"Oh Phillippe!" Ellen threw herself into Phillippe Robillard's arms, and there was some kissing, while Butler and the young lady, a demure strawberry blonde looked somewhat embarrassed.

"Ellen, and hello, Anna…"

"Phillippe, you rapscallion." But Anna smiled when she said this.

"This is Rhett Butler, he was my dear friend and unfortunately my partner in the unfortunate escapade that has landed me back in Savannah."

"Mr. Butler, it is a joy to meet you, any friend of Phillippes…and I'm sure he led you into whatever prank—" Ellen's eyes twinkled.

"No, I unfortunately set the blueprint on this misbehavior, but I will say Robie was the only one of my classmates who had the nerve, or gall to participate." Rhett Butler winked at Anna, and she giggled.

"So how have things been in hilarious Savannah since I've been gone?" Phillippe asked, after Mammy grumblingly brought the tea.

"Oh, you'll love this Phillippe—Ellen has a new beau!" The girls looked at each other and collapsed in giggles.

"Who, Cedric Molineaux? Or young Campbell?" Phillippe snorted, winking at Rhett Butler. "I knew they'd come sniffing around my little raven haired goddess—"

"No no…this ridiculous little man (giggle) but he's very sweet—" Ellen said as she grabbed her chin to keep from laughing more. "He's a nice little Irish gentleman, he's about—"

"About a hundred years old!" Anna screamed. "If you dressed him in green, you'd think he was a leprechaun about to take you to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow!"

Ellen wiped tears from her eyes. "He's a sweet fellow, and his brothers own the mercantile. Father has asked me to be kind to Mr. O'Hara. So I've suggested he marry Anna instead—"

Anna began pinching Ellen, who laughed more, and for a bit it was feminine mirth, while the young men sipped coffee, surreptitiously feeding their cups from the jug they'd sneaked in from the cold.

"Phillippe, could I have a moment alone with you in the other room?" Ellen blushed as she said this, but Phillippe stood up and bowed to the others, and took Ellen into the next chamber.

"She's missed him a lot" Anna, the strawberry blonde said, simply.

Rhett liked it that Anna was not making snippy remarks about the possible loss of Ellen's virtue, or other nonsense that he often heard from young women.

"Well, Phillippe's a fine fellow, and I think he's going to do great things, he's not like some—not a permanent blackguard." Rhett Butler bit his lip.

"Like yourself, perhaps, Mr. Butler?"

"Among others, Miss—"

"Watling. My first name is Annabel, and some friends call me Belle."


	2. Chapter 2

THE RETURN OF THE HEIR HAS PIERRE SCARED

Pierre Robillard looked scrutinizingly at his mouthiest slave, Jobeth, who the rest of the family knew now as "Mammy" as Mammy Ger'trude had passed nineteen months previous.

"You say they came in this morning? Couldn't go to my father's place, could they Jobeth?" Pierre frowned at chubby Jobeth. I will never call her Mammy. Never.

Jobeth-Mammy gave Pierre Robillard a doubtful smile, poured his breakfast coffee and spun, going into the kitchen. Was she wondering if I was going to say a Catholic grace before brekker? I don't think so. Unlike his wife and daughters, Pierre was a staunch Presbyterian.

More objectionable to Pierre than his late wife's Catholic faith, her previous marriages (two of them!) had been her close relationship with the little black girl who she treated more as a best friend than a servant-girl.

An egotistical French-American, Pierre Robillard had always felt that he should be the first and closest confidante in his wife's life, despite the fact that "Pistol Pete" as the soldiers who had served under him had called him, was somewhat of a cold and stiff man, not welcoming companionship in either men or women.

And then, of course, after Solange had died, Pierre had discovered that Jobeth, now Mammy (I will NEVER call her that) had ursurped his place in beautiful, demure Ellen's heart, never mind of course that he'd not paid much attention to her in her short life.

Pierre knew this morning, he knew in his heart, that the worthless little Phillippe had spent the night. Spent the night under the same roof as precious Ellen. And what a specimen!

Expelled from West Point, school that "Pistol Pete" had not been even able to enter, due to poor mathematics ability. Certainly it was true, Phillippe was clever, a bright lad, but Father favored his grandson for so many other reasons. Favored him over Pierre!

A large part of this, perhaps was because Father had so favored Hilaire, Phillippe's older brother. Hilaire had been an assistant to Dr. Henry Perrine, the United States consul to Mexico during the Second Seminole War uprising.

One morning four years ago, Consul Perrine and his assistant had been slain on Indian Key, a small island in the Florida Keys, by a large party of marauding Indians.

Yes, indeed. Pierre had the questionable good fortune to have joined the military and seen no action, his timid brother had become a Consular aide, and was now a casualty of the Seminole War. And of course Father had taken his grandchild, Phillippe to his bosom.

But now Father was beginning to make out his will, determining who would inherit the importing business that he'd started with Pierre's great-grandfather, trading deer skins to enthusiastic European purchasers.

Pierre had tried to explain to Father that Phillippe was a violent drunkard, who had little interest beyond a game of cards and doing the waltz. West Point was the second college that Phillippe had been asked to vacate, and it didn't bode well for the boy's future—or for the future of the family, if Phillippe took over the family business.

True, Pierre had'nt taken much of an interest in the business himself, preferring to supplement his half-pay as a retired colonel with a generous dividend from the importijng company's coffers.

Pierre was ready to lead now, dammit! In the last year or so he had been putting in some reluctant energy at Father's offices.

But Pierre's father was clearly hypnotized, the boy was the apple of his eye!

And what about this nonsense with Ellen? Ellen was Phillippe's first cousin—it wasn't natural for relatives so close to be keeping company, never mind the boy's instability. Pierre hoped Annabel Watling might have a chastening effect on Ellen, the girl's father, a Presbyterian, like Pierre, was owner of forty acres of rice in the low marshes, and Anna, in fact had several eligible brothers that Ellen might take an interest in…Fiddlesticks!

But Ellen, with the wisdom of a fifteen year old, had no eye for any of the young swains who came to call. Speaking of which, that idiot Gerald O'Hara had dropped by the day before, and had stayed so long on the porch swing telling Ellen and Anna Watling, Ellen's houseguest ridiculous stories of County Meath, that when Pierre had come home from the import office, he'd been forced to invite the screaming little lecher to dinner!

The man must go home, but Pierre had to hold his counsel. Andrew O'Hara was to provide rope for one of the new boats, and damn it, if Pierre could get a good price, it would do a lot to show Father that his oldest surviving son should be next in line as head of the company, not a sniveling grandchild.

Lord, Gerald O'Hara was irritating. And he had almost Yankee manners.

Why should such a sensible businessman like Andrew be related to such a howling little monkey? I don't give a good God Damn whether you own a cotton plantation in the wilderness or not. If I had a dime for…

The door to the dining room opened, and a young black haired boy in his late teens entered, looking a bit rumpled. Pierre noticed. This must be the other young wastrel.

"Good morning, sir. I am Rhett Butler. Thank you for allowing me to be a guest in your house." The boy said this in a rote monotone, hoping, of course to let the wish be a fact.

"Butler? Are you of the Charleston Butlers, young man?" Phillippe demanded.

"Yes, yes sir, my parents have lived there for years."

"Your father is Abelard Butler?"

"Yes,sir."

"Why Abelard is one of my dearest friends. I hold him in the highest esteem."

"Oh, why don't I find that encouraging?" young Butler said, as he dropped in a chair at the breakfast table.


	3. Chapter 3

PHILLIPPE'S SOCIAL CALENDAR IS BUSY

"So you are seeing BOTH of them, Robie?" Rhett Butler inquired of Phillippe Robillard as they returned to the Savannah city limits from their quail hunt. Neither had bagged a quail, but it had been a big plus that heavily intoxicated, and more heavily armed, they had not shot each other.

"The problem is, Butler…I am in love with Cousin Ellen, she's who I dream of marrying one day, but Anna Watling is so much more fun to…to romp with, as we, she does things I like." Phillippe looked at Rhett Butler with bloodshot eyes.

They'd been in Savannah a week since leaving West Point. Staying at Phillippe's grandfather's house had been a bit of a chilly atmosphere, but certainly better than Uncle Pierre's.

Now, though, Grandfather Christophe Robillard was warming up, as he was fond of his young grandson, and enjoyed Rhett Butler, who he found quite sophisticated for such a young man.

As they rode two of Grandpa Robillard's mounts back into the city, they tried to keep their drunken voices hushed, but it was difficult.

"Wait, is…are you talking about the nonsense with the feet?" Rhett Butler sipped from the ever present jug, and looked at his friend. "I remember when we visited that cathouse in Highland Falls, you were playing with that silly girl's toes, putting them in your—"

"Hush!" Phillippe took his hand off his bridle, swaying, and almost fell off his horse. What he needed, of course, was more from the jug, and he happily downed more forty-rod, after snatching it from Rhett Butler.

"Yes, I love Anna's feet, and other things she does, and I've missed her. It's been a guilty secret we've kept from Ellen." Phillippe passed the jug back to Rhett, feeling saddened that it was less than half full. They would have to get a bucket of beer from the Red Cow Saloon.

Rhett swigged and then wiped his mouth. "My friend, I don't criticize your proclivities. But if you like Anna, and she pleases you, why waste all this effort with Ellen? You know, it's the one you must live with, be with, that you'll be enjoying or not. It sounds like you just enjoy the idea of Ellen…"

"But Anna has that big nose, and perhaps Ellen will change, but it's doubtful. She's very proper, although we've gotten very close. But there may be another problem, Butler. I think Anna is with child."

Rhett Butler dropped the jug, and the two young men looked tragic as it smashed on the dirt road.

VANITY, THY NAME IS GERALD

Ellen Robillard tried to smile at the strange little man on her porch. Goodness, he came by the house a great deal.

"It's lookin foine, ye are, Miss Ellen. Yer friend Miss Anna, she's not a-visitin' today, I expect?" Gerald O'Hara's eyebrows rose and Ellen could see tiny varicose veins in the top of his forehead.

"Not today, Mr. O'Hara. But Anna does enjoy seeing you." Ellen wondered whether Phillippe would be dropping by tonight. They had been meeting in the carriage house, and she was so consumed when she thought of his dark eyes, but his friend Rhett Butler—

"I love your dress, Miss Ellen, it's quite enchanting." When Gerald O'Hara used the "ch" sound in "Enchanting" a tiny bit of saliva fell into Ellen's bustle. She tried not to flinch.

Gerald O'Hara leaned back in the porch swing, taking one knee in his two hands, immensely pleased with himself.

"Ye should see my plantation in the Georgia low country, Miss Ellen. I call it Tara. 'Tis beautiful there, red clay land, and my neighbor Tom Slattery recently came into business difficulties and sold me another ten acres of his land."

Gerald moved his sweating little face (in November, although a warm day, he sweated…and the perspiration was drooling on him! Should she offer him a handkerchief?)

"Would ye like to see my place, Miss Ellen? Come visit, perhaps?"

"I-I rarely get away from Savannah, Mr. O'Hara." Ellen's voice was light. "My sisters are both married, Eulalie and Pauline, and so I feel very committed to keeping house for my Papa. But it sounds divine, out there in the country…"

Papa would be home soon, and he might be annoyed to see Gerald, but he'd be pleased that Ellen was being so kind to Mr. O'Hara, and also Papa would be immensely gratified not to see either of the young men who had slept in his house the week before.

Rhett Butler had stopped by the day before, and he and Ellen had talked a bit about the new William Dunlap play, "False Shame" and Ellen noticed that Rhett, although a year or two Philippe's junior, had far more patience to sit still, while still radiating with masculine energy.

Yes, Rhett Butler had the quality of an attractive older man…and Ellen liked older men.

But not too old, for God's sake.

"Yes, I came from County Meath in 1822, just a spry thing I was then, but bound and determined, Miss Ellen, to make me fortune…"


	4. Chapter 4

UNCOMFORTABLE COMPANY

"So President Polk is thinking of starting a U. Academy." Phillippe Robillard winked at Rhett Butler as they sat companionably with Anna Watling and Phillipe's cousin Ellen in Grandpa Robillard's parlor.

"Think of it. Maybe you boys could get kicked out of there, too." Anna Watling said, and Ellen giggled.

"Well, you know why they've decided to found an Academy for the Navy—" Rhett coughed. "—which I think is a ridiculous waste of government monies-is because a couple years ago, the son of John Spencer, who was our Secretary of War—"

"We have a Secretary of War?" Ellen exclaimed over her embroidery. "That seems negative."

Rhett shook his head. "The Secretary's son was a midshipman on the Somers, a ship in the West Indies, and he attempted a mutiny, and was executed. And they believe, according to my father, that founding a Naval Academy will build the less treasonous midshipman, or one with filial piety."

"Well, all West Point did was teach us to play whist under our desks, eh Butler?" Phillippe snorted, and Rhett smiled.

"An ambitious grandson I have" came a deep voice from the doorway. The four young people looked up, and Rhett and Phillippe stood, awkwardly, as Christophe Robillard entered the parlor.

"Sir, we didn't—"Phillippe attempted to protest, but was relieved at his grandfather's grin.

"We played bridge, a far more complicated game under our desks, and played pranks, and weren't idiots enough to get expelled for it!" And during the ensuing laughter, Grandpa Robillard's was the loudest.

"Phillippe, I want you to come with me down to the library. I am loath to make you do any work while you are entertaining your friends, but I was very interested in the idea you came up with the other night for a more careful packing of plate glass from our Chinese imports. But I want you to discuss it with your Uncle Pierre, who is downstairs right now."

"You know, Gran'ther, I don't think Uncle Pete likes me." Phillippe said, trying to smile.

"Oh, Phillippe, I'll come with you. Papa is a goose." Ellen rose, and the two cousins, visibly straining to resist holding hands, followed their grandfather out of the parlor.

"I wonder how that will go." Anna said doubtfully. "You'd think Pierre Robillard would be proud of his nephew's ideas but…"

"Old men are often not so pleased with too much ambition, though I am impressed with Robie's grandfather." Rhett responded. "I doubt Robie is a genius, but you tend to want to encourage your youngster, I wonder sometimes how Secretary Spencer raised his boy."

"Good Lord, Rhett Butler, you're not even eighteen, and you talk like an old sober sides." Anna laughed. Then, growing more serious, she said "I understand Phillippe advised you of my condition."

"I—yes." Rhett said uncomfortably. He had a feeling that Phillippe was hoping to advise a way out of the situation, as Rhett had helped a fellow student of theirs who had gotten a tavern keeper's daughter out of similar troubles.

"Don't look so disturbed, Mr. Butler." Anna said, frowning. "I have no intention of having an operation or taking a medicine to end my-my—"

"Pregnancy. It's just a word, Anna." Rhett said calmly. "Do you think you'd like to leave town? I do have friends in Charleston who might house you—"

"I think it's ridiculous. Phillippe doesn't love Ellen. He thinks he does, but she is vacuous and doesn't please him." Anna said this matter-of factly, as if she was describing a slight influenza. "I love Ellen, have since we were five, but it's truly unnatural to inter-breed with a first cousin anyway, isn't it?"

"I am not an expert on genealogy, but I've seen a few pop-eyed critters in my time, yes, washed-out progeny of too-affectionate relatives." Rhett snickered. "There's a family in Atlanta, the Hamiltons, who mate with their country cousins, the Wilkes's…It's—"

"But anyway" Anna interrupted, eager to return the subject to her own condition, "I read the same books that Phillippe reads, we have the same interests, and the same pleasures."

Rhett resisted the impulse to comment that his dear friend Robie was not much of a reader. He understood Anna's complaint. Frankly, he agreed with her. Robie would be better off with Anna, or better yet, not marrying at all for a few years. But he couldn't tell her this.

"I don't think I can change his mind, Anna" Rhett said, as gently as possible. "Phillippe is a very stubborn person—"

"But you are smarter than he is!" exclaimed Anna Watling imperiously. "You—he respects you tremendously, Rhett!"

Rhett looked out the window and wondered how she expected him to convince Robie that he should wed a pregnant harlot, never mind her social standing, when Rhett himself had said to Phillippe on many occasions, that marriage was a resource for milksops, fools and paupers.

Truly, if Phillippe were the latter, a pauper, a wealthy young enchantress like Anna Watling might be the best option. Rhett had a friend, Alden Whitaker, whose father was an impoverished country parson.

Alden, masculine in every way except a somewhat romantic interest in his own sex, had overlooked that to marry a chubby ironmongery heiress. And how it had worked out. She enjoyed romping with her father's male field hands, and so did Alden! They'd made one heir, and lived in companionable but platonic couple hood.

But alas, for most, reality was never that simple.

The parlor door opened, and Ellen came in, looking a bit disconsolate. "Papa couldn't find a thing wrong with Phillippe's ideas, but he is being very piggish anyway."

Ellen threw herself in a chair and looked at her friends. "What is the conversational subject du jour?"

"The complexity of human relationships" Rhett said gently, and Ellen looked bored.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're impressing your young people with that tiresome story of the four handed bridge game you used to play in Nautical Engineering class, eh Papa?" Pierre had asked accusingly.

And it was true. It was a funny story. Christophe, his twin brother Henri (dead twenty years from cholera) and Grigsby and Hubbard—what happened to them? Grigs made it into a two star generalship, he'd heard—but they'd had such fun playing cards and fooling old Professor Hamlin.

And it was too bad, yes, quite unfortunate that Christophe had not been able to get either of his sons into the Academy—Phillippe's father of course had died a heroic death on the Indian Keys, but he'd been too sickly to pass the rigorous physical exam, a bookworm, that one—and Pierre, although a fine physical specimen, was not all there mentally, or at least intellectually.

Phillippe was a remarkable young man! Last week had been unpleasant, first with Pierre criticizing Phillippe's splendid ideas about packing plate glass. And then of course, the silly Watling girl, threatening bastardy.

But Christophe had risked his relationship with Amos Watling, the adoring papa, by turning up several of the longshoremen that were in Christophe's employ, and having them swear affidavits that the girl was some sort of nymphomaniac.

Sadly, Amos Watling had turned little Annabel out of his house, but it was the girl's own fault for giving up her pantaloons to Christophe's randy grandson. Funny, how energetic the boy was—unlike his weedy father, now buried somewhere in the Florida Everglades. They'd never found the bodies.

Such a shame. But—" Christophe's thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the library door, and Watha, his housemaid, entered. "Mist' Christophe, you got a visitor, young Mister Butler."

"Phillippe's houseguest? I thought he'd departed for Charleston." Christophe said genially. "By all means, Watha, let the boy in."

Rhett Butler entered the library and bowed to Christophe. What a splendid looking young man. He tended to keep his cards close to the vest, unlike most of Phillippe's more exuberant friends, but he was gentlemanly enough, young Butler, and it appeared that he was now growing something of a black moustache!

"Mister Robillard, I hesitate to trouble you on a pressing matter, but I am sure by this point, that Phillippe has told you of the Pettijohn affair. He doesn't seem to keep much from you sir." Young Butler said this with a somewhat sardonic air that implied, at least to Christophe, that he did not have a similar confidential relationship with his own family members.

"Oh yes—" Christophe put his forehead in one large palm. "The uh William—"

"Yes. The William Tell business." And then young Butler smiled.

How regrettable it had been. On the way back from West Point, the boys had stopped in a Maryland tavern, where Phillippe had drunkenly enjoined the tavern keeper's niece, a miss Priscilla Pettijohn, in balancing a stein of beer on her head so he could shoot it off with a pistol…but alas the shot had been a bit too low, and he and Butler had had to spirit themselves out of the state just a bit ahead of the lynch mob.

"As you are aware, sir, I would have prevented Phillippe from this lunacy, especially with his lamentable aim, even sober—" Butler said

Christophe flushed, angrily.

"But I was not in the tavern until just after the murder—"

"The accident!" Christophe blustered. "My grandson would never on purpose have, ah, killed a young woman. But they didn't discover your names, and this affair is quite over, isn't it, Butler?"

"Well, not quite, sir." Butler said comfortably. "You see, Phillippe's Uncle Pierre has got wind of the incident, and is attempting to find out the name of the Maryland town because he feels his nephew should be brought to justice now. He's offered a knowledgeable third party a thousand dollars for the particulars of Miss Pettijohn's demise, the uncle's name, the town, that sort of thing."

The hue of Christophe's skin went from red to pale white. Damn Pierre! In an effort to free his daughter from a peculiarly incest-like romantic entanglement, as well as ensuring himself full inheritance of the import company, he'd do anything.

"I don't know what…to do" the old man said haggardly. "Has Pierre met with this third party?" Christophe paused. "It would be the ruin of a splendid future for my grandson, you know."

"Well, I don't think the third party is concerned with that, but if you were to out bid your son, the information could be withheld, you know." Rhett Butler was now pouring himself some Madeira rum from a crystal goblet.

"Damme, that's blackmail!" Christophe raged. "How-how much do you think—" Christophe paused. "How about fifteen hundred dollars?"

"How about two thousand?" Rhett Butler sipped from his glass, smiling and wiping the liquor off his nascent moustache, and Christophe Robillard knew who his "third party" was.

"You young whelp! I've housed you, my grandson has befriended you—"

"And I shielded your grandson's cheating on various Academy tests before his expulsion, was forced to stab a roulette wheel owner after Phillippe did serious damage to his instrument, and now must summon the funds to salvage a ruined girl's life.

As Christophe gaped and gritted his teeth, the impudent young man continued.

"Most people are idealists, I am an empiricist, and through my empirical observations, Miss Annabel Watling perhaps asked for her current difficulties, but despite my atheism, some power unbeknownst to me has stimulated a long dormant conscience."

Rhett Butler sipped again from the glass "And since you've made the poor girl permanently unwelcome to family and friends here in Savannah, I've decided to raise the funds to improve a future elsewhere. Two thousand dollars in cash, Mr. Robillard, I know you have it in your safe."

"You are a most unconscionable young scoundrel." Christophe said as he handed Rhett Butler the cash.

"Alas, if only it were so, I wouldn't be in this position, but hopefully my conscience will not bother me again, and I can fall into a life of comfortable blackguardism." As the young man said this, he clicked his heels like a dancing master, bowed and was gone.

Within five days of Rhett Butler and Anna Watling leaving Savannah, Christophe came to realize that indeed his foppish nephew had often benefited from Butler's protection. Phillippe was caught cheating at poker at the Green Man saloon, and had to be spirited to New Orleans anyway, where he was caught cheating yet AGAIN.

This time, with no familial protections, Phillippe was killed in a barroom brawl, and in an act of rage-filled revenge Ellen Robillard gave her father, the newly minted head of Robillard Import-Export Corporation a near heart attack by marrying the blustering little Irishman, Gerald O'Hara.


	6. Chapter 6

MEETING ELLEN, THE CHILD BRIDE

John and Gladys Wilkes rode up the path to the big Tara house. They looked at each other and smiled gamely. Curious that Gerald O'Hara, their boisterous neighbor had finally found a wife…and even more curious that she was a child of fifteen!

Pork was lounging on the steps, an undisciplined behavior in a house servant that Gladys wondered about. Pork was more of a crony to Gerald O'Hara than a body servant, it was curious.

"Hello there, Miz Wilkes!" Pork grinned, hopping off the porch and offering a hand to assist Gladys in stepping down from the cart. "Mist' Wilkes, suh!"

"Good to see you, Pork. We've come to see Mister O'Hara's new wife." Gladys felt a twinge in her chest. John looked a question at her. But she shook her head and smiled. Mrs. Wilkes had a heart condition, and she doubted that she'd be alive five years from now, but it was no excuse to refrain from visiting neighbors.

The door to the house opened, and Gerald O'Hara came out smiling, a mint julep in his hand. "John Wilkes and the charming Gladys! How good to see ye. Forgive Ellen; she is having a bit of a moment inside."

Gladys Wilkes' ears pricked up at this, and she swiftly walked around Gerald, entering the house, and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

And yes, from the kitchen door came a young girl's tearful voice.

"Mammy, this is drudgery! There is mutiny in the smokehouse, and I have to watch Cleonie spinning the thread, and I don't know anything about it…and that idiot Jingle apparently has made a mess of the candle dipping. And if Mr. O'Hara thinks I am going to oversee the hog slaughtering, he has another thought coming."

"Miss Ellen, Ah neber in mah bawn days done dis work befo' but we got to—"

"It's ridiculous! I wanted to teach Papa a lesson, but he can't possibly be getting as much pain out of me marrying Mr. O'Hara as I am, and Gerald O'Hara does NOTHING, nor does his valet, Pork."

"No 'count, shiftless good fo' nothin' niggah! But you cain't say dat about Mist' Gerald, Miss Ellen—"

"It's ghastly, Mammy, and last night the field hands were in an uproar because I forgot their molasses. I think I have it memorized weekly, a peck of cornmeal, a side of bacon, the molasses, salt…oh I don't know. " There was a sob.

"Miss Ellen—"

"Why doesn't Mr. O'Hara—it's like being married to the town drunkard! We never went through this living in Savannah—"

Gladys Wilkes had heard enough. She entered the kitchen, brushing by a coal faced scullery maid, and smiled at the tired looking fifteen year old. Oh Mr. O'Hara, Gladys thought. You really chose from your lower nature rather than your brain this time.

It was a mystery, hand choosing your mate. Although Gladys Burr, in her young years, had entertained many a love interest growing up in quiet Macon, she'd been told by her own mother that marrying a studious, somewhat unexciting man like her second cousin John Wilkes would ensure a pleasant and somewhat predictable future.

And because of this, Gladys had waited until she was nearly twenty to wed, learning what she could about the management of a plantation, although when she'd arrived at Twelve Oaks as the bride instead of as a guest, it had certainly been a jarring event, whatever her preparation.

Ellen Robillard O'Hara dismissed Mammy with a tiny wave and offered Gladys her hand. Good manners if nothing else. Ellen had a stray hair in her eyes, and bit of corn meal on her cheek, but she smiled gamely.

THE MEN DISCUSS IT—WHERE DOES MOLASSES COME FROM?

"She didn't know." Gerald's eye sparkled as he and John Wilkes sipped their drinks on the veranda. "Had no idea that molasses came from trees. And also, complained to me, she did, that the silver wasn't polished. I said 'Mrs. O'Hara, this is your affair now, and yes, you must do that and also hire the overseer and look after the cotton."

John Wilkes smiled at his impetuous friend. Certainly Gerald O'Hara had brought a bit of entertainment to Jonesboro since arriving in the County eight years previous. But there was a bit more to life than riding around on your horse, paying visits and complaining when your shirts are insufficiently mended.

"You know, Gerald, I think the young lady is a bit overwhelmed by her duties." John said this carefully. "Perhaps you should show her more about the plantation, and not play cruel jokes."

"Oh, come on now, John! Tellin' Ellen that molasses is a sort of once a month "mud-rain" is precious. Even Pork wouldn't fall for that." Gerald emptied his glass and signed for the yard hand to take the glasses back into the house for replenishment.

"But is that going to help when the field hands are dissatisfied for they have no molasses?" John asked quietly. "They are people, of a sort, Gerald. For the work they do, they deserve a little syrup, don't you think?"

"I'd wonder if you were an Abolitionist, if ye didn't have three hundred of your own nigras." Gerald said, and slurped down more mint julep happily.

"Gerald, your people lived through a forced famine because the British wanted to break the Irish, as they seem to have done with people in the West Indies. " John said carefully. "Now I'm not predicting an insurrection, but you might get your child bride to at least get them their molasses on time."

Gerald O'Hara pouted. No one wanted him to have a good time.


	7. Chapter 7

THE NEW PURCHASES

"It's a blessin' getting all three of ye at such a good price Gerald O'Hara said as he disembarked from the cart, with his three new slaves…triplets! Brahmin, Druid, and Lotus.

And what a fetching girl Lotus was, high yaller, full breasted, and Brahmin was a big hulk of a creature, buck that he was. Druid was the troubled one. What sort of owner would raise a critter with his own son, and teach him a lot of folderol about reading and writing, and ciphering?

But on the other hand, Dru was supposed to be a competent bookkeeper, and that made up for the attitude problems brought on by the other book learning.

Josiah Vines had advised Gerald "Let the boy have his precious books—he's going to read anyway, unless we poked out his eyes. He's promised not to teach readin', most of the field hands don't want to learn it anyway, and Druid is honest at the accounting work."

Excellent! And why not? Gerald had been horrified to learn that Vines had actually allowed Druid to tutor his own daughter in composition, rhetoric, algebra and something called "government science" Madness!

"Dru's got some precious ideas, but he won't run off, and his brother is a simpleton who can just chop cotton in the fields. Their previous owner, a Mr. Clyde, wanted to give all three of 'em schooling, but only Druid picked it up, and it's said that as Clyde's son's body servant, that Dru had to help him through school to the point that it was embarrassing, and after Zebulon Clyde finished at the University, they sold the triplets to me."

Gerald was absolutely compelled by Lotus, who was such a stunner. But perhaps he should've paid a bit more attention to Druid.

LEARNING THE ROPES

"Ah ketch you down at the fiel' han' quarters latah on." Brahmin said, grinning at his brother. Brahmin couldn't believe that Druid would voluntarily stay down there "wid de trash" when he could have a basement apartment right in the house.

But Druid never put on airs. Dru waved goodbye to his brother, and cast a doubtful eye on Gerald, who was guiding Lotus around the back of the house with his age-spotted Irish hand on her back.

When Druid came into the parlor, he saw Ellen sitting dispiritedly on a sofa, sniffing her sleeve and complaining to Mammy.

"The-my entire frock stinks of the smokehouse, Mammy. There must be a better way for me to run things without having to leave the parlor. I just despise traipsing around this grotesque farm."

As Mammy was about to reply, she looked up and saw Druid, and her massive brows furrowed.

"Who be you, niggah? Why are you in dis parlor?"

Druid smiled gamely. "I'm Druid, and Mister Gerald bought me and my brother and sister this morning. I was asked to help Miss Ellen with the account books and other—things."

"You some uppity talkin' boy ain't you?" But Mammy seemed relieved to have someone to assuage Ellen, as she was utterly lost. She gave Ellen a doubtful glance, and gathered up her skirts and hustled out of the parlor, fast.

Ellen looked coldly at Druid. "You enjoy numbers? It's not that I can't perform mathematics, but it gets tedious sometimes."

Sacre bleu! Oh you poor bewildered child, Druid thought. But he had to be careful here…there was nothing more dangerous than an insecure, easily offended missy. Dru bowed his head and then looked up and grinned big. "Well, if I can help, maybe Miss Ellen can have more time for more creative work than uh, figures."

"You can add and subtract, and count past a hundred, then?"

Yes my dear, and I'm a master of discovering the length of any hypotenuse. And I won Marse Clyde's little girl the Copernicus Mathematics Award at Miss Porter's School, but never mind that.

"I can take a gander at it—your ledger, I mean. I'll be real careful." How gratified she looks as I slaughter the English language, Druid thought. Still it keeps me out of the fields, chopping cotton has always given me asthma.

GERALD FINDS LOTUS A USEFUL FRIEND

"I understand you can make a man very happy…Mr. Vines told me that, and for a few tips, you'd do me a world of favors." Gerald's face was very close to Lotus's.

"Dat's right, Mist' Geral' but de tips have to keep comin'. You want to go in the little building together?" Lotus was used to the creepin' white masters. They'd not been able to keep their hands off her since her eleventh year. Just five years ago, when she was sixteen, Lotus had given birth to a baby so white, from Mr. Clyde, that he'd seized it and was raising it as his own son.

"No, 'tain't me, darlin'." Gerald smiled. "I'm quite taken, more than taken with my bride, Miss Ellen. But I have a neighbor, Tom Slattery. His uncle left him fifty acres that he's been tradin' to me for weaknesses he has, one of which is laudanum, and the other pretty octoroon girls, if I give him a month with you, unfettered, he'll give me an acre of his land."

Gerald scratched his chin. "Tom is sick of the last girl I sent him, Flora, though he was so taken with her as to give me ten acres last year, but Miss Flora seems to have developed a nervous disorder, Tom's a strange fellow. But you can help me out, I'll wager!

Lotus's stomach churned at this trade-off, but she tried to keep smiling. She, Brahmin and Druid had saved a few hundred dollars and hoped to at some point make a quick departure along the Underground Railroad. But a few more dollars wouldn't hurt.

"I'll give you five dollars for every week you spend at Slattery's place, fulfillin' his personal needs, he likes to use the whip a bit and other things."

"How about ten dollah's Mist' Gerald?"

But Gerald O'Hara's jaw was determined. After an interminable moment, he smiled. "Seven. That's a dollar a day for ye. And all your other needs met, my lass."

"Oh, Mist' Gerald, I feel so lucky."


	8. Chapter 8

AND SOON WE FLEE?

"It look like Harriett be comin' through soon, Druid" Brahmin said one July morning. "You ready to go? Lotus be ready fo' some time. She comin' back from Slattery's tonight."

Druid smiled at his brawny brother as they stood outside the slave shack. "Did poor Tom run out of acres, then? I noticed quite a growth of cotton stock in Miss Ellen's ledger."

"He got five acres left, but Miz Slattery an' Emmie and the chil'ren won't let him sell no mo'. Dey put up wid Mist' Gerald takin' most of the propitty to keep ol' Tom from beatin' on Miz Slattery and the lil' ones…but because of the laudanum and the forty-rod whiskey Mist' Gerald be gibben ol' Tom, he ain't as strong as he used to be."

Brahmin grinned, but it was a doubtful grin.

"Yes. Well I think Mister Gerald had evinced a hope that they could take all the land and drive the Slatterys out of the County, but they'll have to live with this. It's sad."

"Sad fo' who? " Brahmin demanded. "De Slatterys? Fuck dem, Druid. You been takin' a little money from de account books, Lotus got nearly six hunn'd dollahs from sellin' huh body fo' Gerald O'Hara, an' I been sellin' chickens and pigs…we gon' leave wid something after the nasty deal we got."

Druid smiled, and began walking towards the main house. It was true, what Brahmin said…they'd really gotten a rough time of it. Old Cornelius Vines the original owner had raised the triplets (some said his own issue of the housemaid, Phyllis) right in the house, although Brahmin and Lotus had not taken much interest in the educational and cultural benefits.

But they'd worked in the house and around the gardens of Mr. Vines's big house in Americus, and Druid had been raised and educated with the six Vines children, he'd gone to Europe with the family, and been thoroughly surprised when, after Cornelius's death, he'd been summarily sold.

"But Connie, we're brothers, friends." Druid had protested to Cornelius Appleton Vines Junior, as he was drawing up the papers. "You and I and Dabney, your younger brother, we've ridden horses, and gone swimming and fishing done—"

And of course Master Connie had laughed good naturedly. What kind of a black idiot could imagine that they were REALLY the same? Master Connie had gambling debts that the old man had refused to honor, and more horses to bet on now that the old man was dead. A thousand dollars each for the triplets was quite a boondoggle.

Certainly he and Dabney would miss "messin' round" with Lotus, but there were other octoroon bitches out there, and as soon as everything, all of Papa's hard-earned property sold off, the brothers were headed to Monte Carlo.

And perhaps it had been a bit embarrassing that Druid, who had skipped second, fifth and ninth grades, had had to tutor both boys to get them through the first two years of the University of Georgia!

Now, Druid entered the side door of Tara, smiling genially at Mammy. It had taken a good two of the three years of his knowing Mammy to have her soften up to what she still thought of as an uppity field hand, but they were friendly now.

Mammy was holding baby Suellen, four months old and howling in her broad left arm.

"Miss Scarlett pinched lil Sue on the neck, an' so we separated dem for a bit of time." Mammy explained, as Dru took Suellen into his strong confident arms, the child instantly calming.

"You changed your mind, Mammy? It could be tonight, you know." Druid had been terrified when he'd discovered that Mammy was in on the triplets secret about running off with Harriett Tubman, and even more surprised when Mammy had given them part of her meager savings.

But Mammy shook her head. "I got a good life heah, an' I doubt dat you goin' to have it so good in Canada or wherever you goin'. But if you want dat—"

Druid smiled, enduring Miss Suellen's drooling into his collar. "It won't be a particularly prosperous life, but I think I can even get a job in Canada teaching school, to all kinds of children!"

Mammy's eyes nearly rolled back in her head. Teaching white children! Dat Canada mus' be totally uncivilized.

ELLEN SAYS GOODBYE, BUT DOESN'T KNOW IT

Ellen worked on her embroidery and watched little Katie Scarlett attempt to move the little iron bulldog doorstop. What a willful child she is! And oh, soon it might be time for another.

After the horror of the honeymoon period, Gerald O'Hara's gasping, sweaty body laboring over Ellen's nauseous supine figure in the act of making "love", she'd been able to keep his attentions away from her during her delicate pregnancy and for six months after the first girl's birth.

It had been a splendid excuse, Ellen's "delicate condition" and Gerald had understood, although he had been mystified as to why the girl demanded he stay three feet away from her at all times!

Finally, she had re-admitted Gerald to the bedroom, and now she was enjoying another six months (or a year if she could prolong it) of her "delicacy" after the birth of little Suellen.

Druid came into the parlor, having dislodged baby Suellen, and smiled at Ellen, who motioned him to close the parlor door.

Ellen rose and came close to Druid, taking his hand and then jumping up in his arms for a deep, rich kiss. "I've missed you so, but the old man is in Macon today, and I think we'll have time for a little fun."

Scarlett, now sucking on a sugar teat, looked up at her mother and Druid, and giggled to see them hugging.

THE END OF THE LINE

Tom Slattery sat with his face in his hands. "What do you mean, you can't come any more at all? But Lotus…"

Lotus tried to be gentle. "Mist' Tom, of course I love ya, but Mist' Gerald ain't gwine let me come over heah no mo', an' you shouldn't sell no mo' of yo' land. You got eight chil'ren."

Tom shook his head dispiritedly. How had this happened? When Uncle Phineas had willed the land to Tom, he'd had almost no interest in being a plantation owner, but as he'd been expelled from the University and had been caught embezzling from the Atlanta firm that Father had gotten him, there'd been no choice.

Tom had already suffered a shotgun marriage to Adeline, and the children came like rabbits! And Tom had thought perhaps agrarian life would be a solution, but of course there was no solution for the cursed Tom Slattery.

Tom and Adeline had actually not had marital relations for years, but still the children came. Tom suspected two or three little bastards were from the loins of planters like Jim Tarleton and Old Doctor Fontaine, who he'd spotted leaving the house late at night…but they also left money, and Tom needed some of that.

And then, even worse…Tom had begun selling his acres for "favors"…he was a terrible farmer, but still…

How had that little Irish demon Gerald O'Hara discovered Tom's weaknesses? Opium, laudanum and sexy quadroon girls!

"Why?" he asked Lotus.

But when he looked up, his goddess was gone.


End file.
